


Out of Body Experience

by IKrose234



Series: Phantom Scrapbook [1]
Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Author doesn't know how to write endings, Body Horror, Danny feels bad and no one knows what to do, Danny gives everyone a heart attack, Gen, I don't know if I should really call it that, If someone thinks this counts as graphic violence let me know, Intrusive Thoughts, It kinda rides that line so, No dissection, Not the intention at least, Sick Fic, friendship could be romantic if you really wanted I guess, viewer discretion is advised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-18 13:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21661390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IKrose234/pseuds/IKrose234
Summary: Did he know what was going on?  No.  Did he want it to stop?  Very much.If vomiting was the worst of his problems, he could deal with that.  Plagued with visions of his own body falling apart, Danny knows that laying down for a nap isn't going to solve his problems.  But what will?
Relationships: Danny Fenton & Tucker Foley & Sam Manson
Series: Phantom Scrapbook [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561615
Comments: 15
Kudos: 102





	Out of Body Experience

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this took me a very long time to write and too many revisions. But I hope you enjoy it! In case you skipped over the warning in the tags, seriously, I don't mark this as graphic violence, but it IS Body Horror. If you have violent intrusive thoughts or are queasy about bodily harm, maybe pass this one by. There is no person vs person violence, only getting sick and, like, self-destructing bodies. Be careful and happy reading!

A bucket of ice-cold water dumped over him and he woke with a startled gasp. He shot up, chucking the sopping wet blankets aside, his arms squeezed his torso. In the corner of his eye, he saw the angry red text of his alarm clock telling him it was 4:48 as his head whipped around to the _criminal_ who did this. The wrath bubbling up his throat cut off and he rubbed his eyes hard - because he saw no one. He pushed himself to the edge of the bed with violently shaking hands, remembering at the last second the wet blanket on the floor and jerking his bare toes away from the offending article, only . . . only it wasn’t wet. 

Danny’s brow furrowed as he lowered his feet once again to the floor, and the bone-dry blanket. That was impossible? He was covered in water just a second -- he touched his shirt. It was dry. He was covered in goosebumps but his hair was dry and he wasn't sure if he was trembling entirely due to the chill. He darted into the bathroom, hissing as the light hit his eyes. He fumbled until he brushed the cool glass of the mirror, squinting at his reflection. He was entirely dry but for just a second he thought he saw his eyes - he was still half asleep. It didn't feel like a dream. His skin still burned from the phantom ice and his nerves were singing with adrenaline. His breath fogged the mirror; frost was building at the edges. He backed away quickly and fled back into the comforting darkness of his bedroom, hitting the light switch on his way out. His fingers brushed the doorknob and the door slammed behind him - and if anyone asked he _absolutely did not_ jump, nor did he fling himself into bed without touching the ground. Neither of those things happened, totally, but his tired mind still reeled. He didn't think he had pulled the door that hard? Maybe his clothed had snagged the doorknob. As he reassured himself, the door cracked open and a flashlight’s beam spilled inside.

“Danny?” His mother’s soft voice came from the doorway, and when he focused he could see the faint outline of her concerned expression. “Are you alright, honey?”

“I'm fine, mom,” he answered on reflex. He was cold and a little twitchy, but he really was okay, so it wasn't like he was lying. It left a bad taste lingering in his mouth anyway.

“What are you doing awake? Were you playing one of your games? I thought I saw something glowing.”

A lump wedged itself in his throat and he suppressed a nervous laugh. “Oh! Uh, that was just, um, my phone! I went to the bathroom and I had my flashlight on, yeah.” Still not a total lie.

“Why did you slam your door?”

He really did chuckle that time. He hummed and stalled, scrambling an excuse before he stopped dead in his tracks. Why was he trying to lie? _For once_ he had an entirely normal, human teenager response. “It's kinda stupid,” he admitted. “I, uh, I had a nightmare and kinda, _ran really fast through the hallwaybecauseitwasreallydarksorry.”_

Her face softened and she stepped into the room to run her fingers through his hair. His tense muscles slowly relaxed. He missed this, he realized. “That’s okay, sweetie. Just try and not slam any more doors, okay?” She paused. “Do you want me to sit with you for a little while?”

Danny’s first impulse was to reject her offer, but. . . . “Yeah,” he whispered, “that would be nice.”

He wasn't sure if he really saw her grinning, but she slipped into bed next to him in record time. She sat next to his pillow and continued running her fingers through his hair. After a moments deliberation, he pressed his face into her hip.

“What was the nightmare about?” Her voice was soft and just above a whisper, which his frazzled senses appreciated.

“I don't remember,” he told her honestly, recalling his heart pounding in his ears and the rush of adrenaline-fueled power through his entire body. A still-healing wound on his side ached. “It was cold. Really, really cold.”

His mom hummed sympathetically. “You’re okay now.” She tugged the blanket higher around his chin.

“Yeah. . .” he murmured, eyes heavy. He hadn't planned on going back to sleep, but his limbs were sluggish and he found himself blinking in and out. He drifted to sleep in silence, and Maddie slipped out a few minutes later.

Danny woke up to his alarm blaring in time with a pounding headache. He groaned and rolled out of the tangle of blankets, kicking aside dirty clothes on his floor as he tried to get ready. He stomped down the stairs ten minutes later to his mom offering him a smile he tried his best to reciprocate. Jazz gave him a big grin from the table, but he picked up the slightly forced edge and the intensity in her eyes. She patted the chair next to her. He looked at the clock. It was ten minutes before he normally left: plenty of time for a pleasant family breakfast. His head pounded. He nervously grinned back (Jazz gave him an odd look so it might have been closer to a grimace) and snagged a piece of toast, shoving it in his mouth as he scooped up his bag and made a break for the door.

“I'm meeting Sam and Tucker early, heading out, bye” he shouted through his mouthful. 

“Danny!” He slammed the door on his sister’s outraged cry and took off running towards Tucker’s house. Normally his friends met him outside of his house, but he knew that Sam took a bus to Tucker’s house first. It was entirely out of spite towards her parents, but also because he was rarely awake on time. He slowed down once he rounded the corner a block away, only for his headache to return twofold. He sighed. This was just how his whole day would go, wasn't it?

He climbed the first step to Tucker’s house when the door opened. “Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad! Love you, see you later,” he shouted over his shoulder. He turned forward and froze in the doorway, his easy smile slipping away to mildly confused concern. “Danny?” He glanced back into his house and quickly shut the door. “Are you alright? Did something happen?”

Danny snorted. “What, it’s so unbelievable that I woke up on time and came to see my friends?”

“Yes,” Tucker deadpanned without a trace of hesitation.

“Wow, that was rude, you are rude.” They started towards the bus stop, chatting idly (Tucker questioning him) until it pulled up with a squeal.

Sam stepped out, immediately locking eyes and frowning. “What did you do?”

Danny threw his hands in the air. “Why am I friends with you people? I’m allowed to be awake on time!”

“Yeah, but you won't be,” Sam tucked her arm around Tucker’s and his, tugging them along. 

“You are awful people,” Danny groaned. They walked in friendly silence until they reached the school doors and Sam released them to open the doors. “You’re cold,” she said suddenly.

For a brief second Danny looked at Tucker, wondering why he was cold, before he realized, duh, she was talking to him. “I do that,” he commented dryly.

Sam didn't look up from her locker. “You’re colder than usual.” She slammed it closed and they moved to Tucker’s.

Tucker cut between them and squeezed his hand with a displeased hum. “She’s right, you’re freezing, dude.”

“Why is this a big deal,” he sighed, exasperation growing. “I’m always cold, it’s fine.”

Tucker gave him an odd look. “You are _always_ cold, Danny,” Sam shot him a stern glare. “We’re just worried. You’re almost as cold as when Overgrowth showed up.”

Sam never broke stride or hesitated on the name, but _that_ definitely set a chill down his spine. He annoyance ebbed. “I really am fine,” he reassured them. “I have a little bit of a headache and my side, like, itches, but that’s all, I swear.”

They moved on to his locker and they looked him over critically as he pulled out books.

“You haven't gone ghost and opened up that wound, right?”

Danny winced. He was careless and Skulker got a lucky shot off. It left a considerable gash on his ghost half, but if he didn't switch forms too much then the wound isn't nearly as severe to his human body. “Yeah, I've been careful. There haven't really been any ghosts in the last couple of days, so I haven't even needed to switch.” He closed his locker and leaned against it, waiting for the bell before they split for class. “The worst thing was that ghost hamster, and I didn't even have to _try_ to catch that one.”

Tucker looked up from his PDA. “Wait, it got out again? Didn't you catch that one, like, last week?”

Danny shrugged, “Honestly I think my dad might have let it out because it was cute and it got away from him.”

They shared a laugh and chatted until class. He saw Dash hanging around at one point, but Sam glared at him so fiercely he scuttled away pretty fast. It left him with a warm glow of pride that helped him power through the first hour. He forgot about the dream until lunch.

He set down his tray and slid in next to Tucker, already launching into a long-winded rant about the project Lancer assigned and how it would probably wreck his grades when he bumped the milk carton. It was entirely on accident, making a wild gesture while he turned towards his friend and he clipped it with his elbow. Milk splattered across the tray and all over Tucker’s sweater. He shoved the tray away with a sharp “Come on man!” but it was overshadowed by Danny screaming.

It caught them all by surprise. He hadn’t intended to shriek like that, but he also hadn’t expected for it to feel like acid on his skin. His mind went blank of all else as it hyper-focused on the sensation. He could feel it cover his bare arm, so cold that it was burning through layers of skin. Frostbite dug into his muscles, rotting his flesh and making it blister. It dripped into the wounds like acid, burning him away from the inside out and disintegrating his bones. Pain burned through his entire arm like fire and ripped the scream from his lungs before knew what was happening.

He blinked and it was gone. The table was spotted in ice and his tray was shoved off the side of the table. Completely normal, lukewarm school-brand milk dripped from his forearm. His friends stared at him with wide eyes and the suffocating silence snapped into horrible clarity. The entire cafeteria stared at him, mingled confusion to fear to annoyance. Then laughter erupted like a wave and despite the heat in his cheeks he felt relief as he forced a shaky laugh of his own. He sat down gingerly, mindlessly picking up his tray from the floor and forgetting the ruined mash potatoes.

Tucker reached for him and stopped himself, hands hovering between them like he didn't know what to do. Sam was frozen, staring at him with a fork still in her mouth.

“Are-” Tucker’s voice cracked and he cleared it, “Are you okay?”

“I don't know,” Danny laughed, pressing a shaking hand over his arm. His skin felt like it was covered in a film and he wanted to puke. He pressed harder, trying to drive away the tingling sensation with pressure alone. “I-I don't-” What was he supposed to say? What does someone say when their arm melts off but not actually?

Sam nodded mutely and offered a napkin. He would have to remove the pressure from his arm to take it and panic seared through him because what if it started again and he was going to throw up and-- he forced his hand to accept the napkin and pressed it to his arm instead. It took a few seconds of heavy breathing and mental convincing before he could move again and properly clean the spill. He set the napkin aside and Tucker cleared his throat for attention. Right. Ice covered the table, which he had quickly covered with the tray that he now moved aside. He watched Danny intensely as he reached out a still trembling hand, fingers lighting up with a slight green glow that he pressed to the ice. It thawed immediately under his prodding. Sparks shot over his palm and he flinched hard, banging his knee on the table. He squeezed his eyes shut with a stressed laugh. Sam made a distressed noise in the back of her throat.

Danny took a deep breath and held it, putting his head in his hands.

“What happened?” Sam ventured after a tense moment.

Danny exhaled. “I don’t—” he swallowed, “I don’t know, it was on my arm and it just—it felt weird, or, it felt _wrong_ I don’t know why—”

“Okay, okay, shh” Sam reached over to lightly touch his hand. The muscles twitched and she pulled back but he gripped her hand tightly. She shared a concerned look with Tucker, and adjusted to squeeze his hand back, Tucker put his hand on Danny’s back and scanned for a way out. Teens milled the cafeteria, still snickering but ignoring them besides an occasional glance in their direction.

Tucker stood and tugged on Danny’s elbow. He peeked one eye out the side of his hands, flicking up and down Tucker’s form before sluggishly rising to his feet. Sam gave his arm another squeeze before standing up with them. They flanked the ghost boy as they absconded, redirecting mocking looks with a hard stare. More concerning than anything was Danny so out of it that he never even looked up, let alone acknowledged the attention.

They had a special spot that three of them went to in case of emotional crisis – which they all used oddly enough, with Danny using it rather sparingly. Sam might come here to vent about her parents, and Tucker to stress over his grades and bullies, but this time it was _Danny’s turn_ , and they were making sure of that. Under the first level stairwell was isolated from most people; it was too far away to be convenient for students and teachers never used it. Danny leaned against the rumbling AC unit as if he might sit on top of it, but slid down to the ground a second later, head on his knees.

“Danny? How are you doing, buddy?” Tucker came to crouch beside his friend, trying to get a peek at his face.

“What happened back there?” Sam alighted onto the metal box, keeping one hand on Danny’s shoulder.

Said boy took a deep, shuddering breath, running his hand through his hair. “I really don’t know,” he said slowly. “It suddenly just felt, I hardly know how to describe it, it just felt terrible and I just – one second everything was normal and I blinked and I was standing there and everyone was staring and everything was so _fuzzy_. I feel like my head is full of cotton.”

Tucker gently pushed his head back to press the back of his forehead. “I don’t know, you don’t feel like you have a fever or anything. Was it a ghost thing?”

Danny shrugged and returned his head to his knees. It was too bright, the fluorescent lights made his eyes burn like they’d been stabbed. His stomach churned uneasily and he opened his mouth to talk when his stomach constricted suddenly. He clasped a hand over his mouth and took a fumbling leap towards the trash can at the corner. Bile burned his throat and what little of his lunch he had eaten was upended into the trash. He heard his friends scramble to their feet behind him – muffled and distant, and then all at once a harsh crash that nearly burst his eardrums. He couldn’t help gasping; he clawed at his ears, conflicted between trying to cover them and the burning itching urging him to rip them off. He forced his hands away from his head to grip the cold metal can – he heaved again, vision blurring with reflexive tears. He could feel his organs smashing together and rolling around like they had been violently disconnected from each other and were now a bloody mush weighing against his ribs. The image flashed through his mind and he coughed up more stinking bile.

He felt a hand run through his hair, and he snapped back into place. Sweat dripped down his face, and he didn’t even want to think about whatever else was on his face. His friends were talking fast behind him, but the words were lost on him as he pressed his forehead to the blissfully cold metal. His eyes drifted to the garbage (he felt remarkably similar, at the moment) and it glowed sickly green back at him. His stomach jumped but he refused to puke again and shoved the sensation down. The ectoplasm was fading quickly into a disgusting phlegmy yellow color that made him sicker just looking at, but he couldn’t look away. He felt mucus clogging his throat and he desperately tried not to wonder if it was actually mucus or if ectoplasm was leaking out of his veins and coating his insides. He shuddered and tried to push the images out of his brain and focus on the hand currently rubbing his back.

He hadn’t noticed that they had slipped into silence until someone started talking to him again. “Mr. Fenton, can you hear me? It’s alright son, let’s get you to the nurse, up you go, it’s alright. . .”

Was that Mr. Lancer? The careful concern in his voice was strange, but not unwelcome. The hallway passed in a blur and then he was laying down in a white cinderblock room. An ice pack laid across his forehead and it w _as so blissfully cold, thank the Ancients._

“What? No! We aren’t leaving him!”

Danny roused from his stupor, trying to focus on the conversation. “Ms. Manson, I assure you, he is in good hands. I know you are upset but . . .” Were his friends leaving? He made a displeased grunt before he could stop himself. He seemed to be doing that a lot today.

“We aren’t leaving,” the snarl in Tucker’s voice caught him off guard. “We were the ones with him, and we aren’t going anywhere until we know he’s getting home safely.”

Mr. Lancer sighed. “You’re right – no, it’s quite alright, they were in my class next period, actually, I will write them a pass. They have my permission to stay here.” The nurse must have put up some kind of protest but he tuned it out. Sam was approaching his bed with a worried smile. He pushed himself into a sitting position against the wall, clarity rapidly returning to him. 

“Woah, take it easy there, Danny.” Sam’s hands hovered in front of her, trying to gauge by his expression if she needed to shove him down. He smiled reassuringly, if a little nervous.

“I’m okay now, don’t worry about it.” She snorted – she didn’t trust that for a single second. “Okay, see, that’s fair, but I _do_ feel better now.” He lifted his arms with jazz hands as if that would prove his incredibly stable health. “You know I don’t get sick easily.”

Tucker drifted over to them with a shake of his head. “Oh no, you’re not getting out of this so easily, _young man_ ,” he said in a deep, fatherly tone. He waggled a finger in Danny’s face, who chuckled and shoved him away. Tucker’s eyebrows shot up as he stumbled a step back. “Wow, you weren’t kidding about feeling better. Take it easy on me, man, I’m fragile. If you’re gonna shove me around like that at least let _me_ lie down in the bed.”

Danny laughed, feeling his terrible mood lifting. He loved his friends more than ever, in moments like these. He couldn’t talk the nurse out of calling his parents, but they kept him company while they all waited for his parents to arrive. Tucker even let him play a few games on his PDA – a sacred bond forged through years of intense friendship. Danny rested a hand on his shoulder with a tearfully whispered _“thank you.”_ Tucker instantly mimicked the gesture with a solemn nod. They maintained heavy eye contact for much longer than either of them were really comfortable with but pushed through it for the sake of the joke – until Sam told them to get a room and they erupted into giggles.

His parents were much less willing to joke about the situation. Danny glanced up as the door cracked open and then his mother was in his face less than a second later. He wondered sometimes if _he_ was really the one with superpowers here; Maddie Fenton’s mother-bear instincts terrified him _to this day_. 

“Danny, are you alright, we got a call from the school and we were worried-“ Danny, admittedly, stopped listening at that point. His mom had his face in her hands, turning it one way then the other, and he struggled to try to keep the rest of the room in view. His dad staggered into the room, clearly trying to keep his breathing under control while he smiled winningly to an unimpressed nurse.

“Thanks for taking care of our boy here!” Jack reached out to clap the woman on the shoulder and snapped his hand back with a single look to her tired eyes and pursed lips. His hands settled on his hips instead, fingers tapping and eyes flicking between her and his son. Geez, what had the staff told them? That he was dying? They were a little late if that were the case, he thought dryly.

He blinked and he was on his feet, Maddie’s hand on his shoulder and guiding him to the door. Her grip was just a little too tight and only tightened further when he tried to shift. Sam gave him a sympathetic look as he was escorted away. They were stopped by a rushed-looking secretary bursting out of the office waving papers at them. Mom huffed and, thankfully, released him. The fleeting moment of freedom passed when Dad caught up once again. He offered a strained smile and opened the doors.

Curled up in the backseat of the Fentonmobile wasn’t how he had expected his fifth period to play out. Probably not as bad as the _Great Gatsby_ , though. His dad slid into the driver's seat, filling the air with nonsensical chatter as he revved the engine. Danny’s attention drifted. He ran his fingertips over the seam where window met door, appreciating the soft chill. A spark of green across the glass blinded him and he reeled back. Pain shot through his arm like needles being shoved into his veins from underneath his fingernails. He clutched his arm to his chest with a startled wheeze, any attempts at proper language crashing into his trachea walls as it snapped closed. His skull was collapsing into his mouth from the force of failing to suck in air – the rumbling of the engine amplified itself tenfold rebounding through his ribs. His entire skin was coated in a second layer of sweat and he was going to slide off the seats; he was stuck to the leather yet still falling and each individual muscle fiber tearing away from bone shot like fire through his nerves.

His dad’s hands were cradling his neck and shoulder from the front, catching and holding him in the seat. Danny’s muscles jumped and came back online all at once and his hand shot to his mouth as he gagged. _Don’t puke_ , he screamed at himself, _whatever you don’tdon’tpuke!_ He fumbled for the armrest, clinging to it for stability as Dad withdrew. He had lunged over the console, Danny realized – the door slid open to his right and then he was beside him. His voice was even and calm, soothing his scrambled mind into some semblance of order. How long was he out of it? A second, maybe minutes?

“It’s alright, can you hear me, Danny?” His throat was still tight and sore, so he nodded. “Okay, that’s good, you’re doing so good,” Dad was leaning forward to do something in his periphery and he dropped his head onto his father’s shoulder with a hum. A blanket draped over his shoulders and he blinked through neon orange rubber and seafoam green fuzz. Dad was pushing him back into the seat – Danny grumbled something that not even he understood and curled up with his forehead to his knees, arms snaking around his aching stomach. Voices were mixed up and scrambled; he did his best to ignore them and will his temples to stop throbbing.

He made an effort to look out the window every now and again but seeing streets whip past made his stomach lurch, and he put his head back down. He felt stronger already by the time the car idled and died. The door slid open again and Dad smiled at him. He could see his mom shifting uneasily a few paces away and Danny smiled back at them. He jumped out of the car with ease, despite Mom’s sharp gasp. He raised his hands and made a show of standing on his two feet. He felt his parents’ eyes boring into his back as he walked through the front door with them on his heels.

Mom wasted no time rushing him to bed. She opened the door ahead of him without turning on the lights, leaving him to trip over no less than 2 (two) shoes of different pairs, 1 (one) chemistry textbook, and tangled up in 3 (three) dirty socks.

“This is why you should clean your room,” his mother scolded gently. She must have been privy to some motherly witchcraft that allowed her to cross the room and snap the blinds closed without a single misstep. He was _not_ bitter about it.

“I really do feel better,” he said with a sense of déjà vu.

Mom didn’t even need to turn to him for him to feel her disbelief.

“It’s true!” He shoved his pillows into a semi-comfortable backrest and kicked his blanket to the foot of the bed. “It’s been like that all day – I feel fine and then suddenly everything is,” he paused, grasping for words, “weird,” he finished lamely. 

Mom picked at the corner of his blankets for a moment without looking at him. Unease settled in his guts, which, for the record, was _not_ helping with nausea. He was preparing to spiral into Crisis Mode when she spoke up.

“Is this why you were up last night?”

“What?” He scrambled through his memories without the vaguest notion of what she was referring to.

Her lips thinned into a tight frown. “You could have told me if you weren’t feeling well.” She tugged the blankets up into his lap, brushed his bangs aside, and felt for his temperature. Her eyes searched his face for something. “You know that, right? If you’re in pain – anything – you’ll tell me, right?”

She was talking about – oh. “ _Oh_.” It was – a nightmare. _It was a nightmare_. He opened his mouth but it wasn’t nausea clogging his throat any more. He struggled to swallow around the guilt as he forced himself to maintain eye contact. His side throbbed. “Of course I would.”

What she saw, he wasn’t sure, but for a split second her face fell. It was less than a second, his heart hardly had time to beat; she smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He felt something in his heart break – and something in her’s too. He inhaled deeply, and if it shook a bit then he just grit his teeth tighter.

A twinge went his fingers and he felt them start to itch – he clamped down on his wrist hard. He shoved his hands beneath the blanket, nails digging into tender flesh. Mom stood up and left with a quiet _click_ of the door. He ripped his arm away, scratching down it on instinct. The lines were angry red, but there was nothing else there. He expected _something_ : puffy skin, welts, spots, _anything_. The itching welled up and he desperately tried to think of anything besides the pulsating veins in his wrist popping and tearing and – he keened under his breath as he mentally hurled himself away from the image. Physically speaking, he flung a hand onto his nightstand and fumbled until he hit something weighted and solid. It was his history textbook – oh my Far Frozen, what was the world coming to when he _wanted_ to do homework?

His fingers couldn’t stop tapping against the hardback cover as he crammed as much ancient Chinese dynasty into his brain as possible. His fingers stilled, and his foot bounced instead. He sighed sharply and all but threw himself from the bed, scattering covers and sheets onto the Disaster Floor Zone. He strained his eyes reading while he paced. He kicked random objects out of his path, aggravation spiking in the back of his mind. He blinked and refocused on the words in front of him – he couldn’t remember anything on this page. He threw the book aside and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes.

What was _wrong_ with him? He felt like he was burning and it was like he had – too much energy. He stared at his hands and sparks danced across his fingers, the sickly green glow spreading down his elbows. Was that the problem? He focused on the feeling, letting power rise to the surface of his fingers and sparks erupted in a quick burst like a flashbang. He stumbled backward, smashing his toes into the bedpost in his blind stupor. He gripped the bedpost and hissed, sitting down hard and pressing his back to the bed. It was an awfully similar position as earlier that day, but hopefully without the puking.

His door creaked and he glanced up to see Jazz peeking in. She frowned at him, taking a step into the room. “Why are you on the floor?”

“Uh-” he scrambled for a good reason to be on the floor “- it was colder?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Sure,” she said, disbelieving but not calling him out. The true benefits of being sick were moments like these when he got away with being an idiot because people didn’t want to harass him when they normally would. Her expression turned somber and he remembered why he hated being sick. “What happened today? You totally bailed on breakfast, then go and get sick.”

“Sorry,” he sighed, “it was a long night.”

She glanced into the hallway, and closed the door she was still holding open. She sidled up and crouched next to him, leaning in to whisper “Was it ghost stuff?”

He snorted and shoved her lightly backward. “No, there wasn’t any _ghost stuff_. Nothing has been happening recently, I don’t know _how_ , but somehow there aren’t any reasons to go ghost lately.” He carefully didn’t mention his injury making him avoid using his powers.

“Then why were you awake?”

Crap. He didn’t have an answer to that - and he was _not_ saying he had a nightmare like some little kid. “I was studying?” That wasn’t meant to be a question. Double crap. She gave him a simultaneously unimpressed and baffled raise of the eyebrows, but it was too late now, so he buckled down. “I’ve been trying to catch up while there was downtime,” he argued, which he probably should have been doing for real, now that he thought about it. 

“You can tell me, you know that, right? I’m here to help you, knowing about your secret and all.” How many people were going to ask him that? He was getting real tired of hearing it, real quick.

“Why does everyone assume I’m lying?” he snapped, which, alright, might have been a loaded question, but they didn’t have time to unpack that before the door opened _again._

“Hey there kiddo, how are-” Dad stopped in his tracks, staring at both of them sitting on the floor, _next to_ the bed, and pointedly not _in_ the bed. “What are you doing on the floor?”

They glanced at each other. “It was colder,” they said in unison.

Apparently, the power of numbers made it sound much more convincing, because he looked mildly confused, but took it at face value. “We can get some ice packs? I’ll get you some ice, be right back!” He dashed back out the door with a determined grin on his face.

The siblings shared another _look_ and Jazz helped pull him up to his feet. He opened his mouth to say something but - his shoulder popped as it was pulled and the bones were slipping out of place and jarring violently. His shoulder plate slid forward and it strained all the muscles constricting to keep it in place, tendons snapping and bone fracturing. It shoved his collar bones up and they were cutting off his airflow and he was choking. It was puncturing his throat and it jammed against his windpipe. It pressed and pressed until the vein burst, blood pouring down into his lungs and - he took in a deep rush of air and coughed, doubling over. Jazz scrambled to catch his chest, talking frantically and herding him into the bed. His vision was still fuzzy as he sucked in sweet, sweet oxygen, but he felt a blanket pulled up and settled around his shoulders. 

His head lolled against his knees, and there were a few minutes of nails running up and down his back before a gentle nudge brought him back to the present. His dad smiled at him - those small smiles always looked awkward on him - and held a glass of water. He was talking and Danny wasn’t listening very well, but the glass was extended and he got the gist of it.

As he reached out to take the glass, it occurred to him that he wasn’t sure if the glass was about to freeze over, but it was too late and he was already picking it up. His grip was weaker than it had any business being, considering that he probably wasn’t really sick, but if it kept the glass from turning into a great big ice cube, then he’d take it. He took a few sips before it was whisked away and everything was moving again. The dark blue of his comforter was covered with multicolored quilts from storage, and he was bombarded by pillows from all angles. He was a little too dizzy to really keep up with any of it, but he moved when he was directed to, and that seemed to be enough. It took another few minutes before he realized his dad was gone, leaving him alone with Jazz curled at the foot of the bed with a book.

She was ignoring his staring, but it might have been because he was already staring before he’d regained his senses, so he couldn't be sure. She might just think he was in a drugged stupor. _He_ was beginning to wonder if he was in a drugged stupor. Had Skulker snuck something in his food? He hardly ate that day, so it was unlikely, but he wouldn't dismiss the idea on sheer paranoia alone. Still, if his parents weren't in the room, he needed to take this chance.

"I need to go out tonight," he mumbled into the blankets.

“You _what?_ ” Jazz snapped her book close, staring at him incredulously. “You did not just say what I think you just said.”

“ _I need to go out tonight,_ ” he repeated, struggling out of his blanket burrito to turn and check the time. It was already five o’clock. When had it gotten so late?

“Not a chance, little brother.” Jazz stood up and aggressively tucked him back in.

“No!” He squirmed, but it was a losing fight. “You don’t understand,” he tried to stress to her, “I _need_ to go ghost.”

“That sounds like it’s going to exasperate the problem, Danny.” She spoke slowly and clearly like they were using different languages. He scowled.

“Look Jazz, I-“

“Jazz, sweetie, is that you?” Their mom shouted up the stairs, followed by footsteps. Danny hissed and threw Jazz off him, and she stumbled a few paces back with an offended cry. Danny stuck his tongue out at her, then their mom popped her head into the room.

“Oh, I did hear you up here! Sweetie, Danny needs to rest. Jack and I can use your help anyways.” She looped their arms with a grin and pulled her daughter towards the door.

“Mom-!”

“It’ll be fun, some quality Mother-Daughter bonding!”

“Mom! Danny should _not_ be left alone while he’s sick!” 

“Nonsense, you’ll just keep him awake.”

Jazz sputtered a few more protests, looking over Mom’s shoulder and narrowing her eyes in a death glare. Danny grinned and snubbed his nose at her outraged expression.

“I swear when I get back up here-” The door snapped shut behind her, and he left in blissful silence. Ah, nothing like well-meaning death threats from his sister to make him feel at home.

But time was short and already counting down. He wiggled free and looked down at his hands in his lap. Power sparked under his fingertips, running along his skin and burning beneath the surface- and he focused hard on the present. He firmly pushed his brain away from falling down the rabbit hole of how his skin was stretched too thin, and his hands too hot, and how the skin would split and freeze over again and- he jolted hard. He hissed through his teeth and opened and closed his fists slowly. He focused on carefully concentrating ectoplasm in his palms and it was like putting aloe on a burn. He sighed, and frost clouded his breath. Something in his head felt clearer.

He couldn’t practice out here in the open. He swung his legs out of bed and leaned on the window, glancing around the street below. People milled in the streets, and he could hear the typical clatter and shouting of his family downstairs. It was too early for him to go out – he wasn’t sure how stable his powers were when he was like this. 

He returned back to bed, collapsing against the pillows. He couldn’t leave yet, but he couldn’t just stay like this either. It was only a matter of time before he had another . . . episode, whatever they were. Even now, he had to fight to focus on something else. It was becoming distressingly hard at this point. He was so desperate that he wished _Jazz_ would come back; even her prying questions were better than this balancing act.

Distracting himself for another few hours was horrible. He tried to read but had to stop when the thought of getting a papercut made it feel like the skin on his hands was peeling off. His computer was too warm to the touch, it scalded his skin and gave him phantom blisters that oozed. It nearly made him hurl. He’d settled into a cycle of freezing and refreezing his inner ring of blankets. The cool ice of his own powers felt soothing against his arms, and he tried to keep the frost covered by another layer of blankets, insulating the cold into a tiny igloo.

“I hope you’re not using your powers in there.”

Danny’s head snapped up to where Jazz stood in the doorway, raising an eyebrow disapprovingly. She walked over, touching the blankets. “It’s colder?” She gave him an unimpressed look.

He smiled sheepishly. “It’s colder.”

“Yeah, well Mom is on her way up behind me, so you should thaw that real quick.”

Danny panicked internally. Thawing wasn’t really his thing. He froze all kinds of things, even things that he probably shouldn’t be able to freeze, but thawing them? Not so much. He tried to focus on calling warm ectoplasm to his hands, pressing them to the blankets and willing them to crack. He didn’t remember causing so many layers of ice.

There was a small “ _crack!”_ and the reverberation shot up his arms like pins and needles. Thousands of tiny sewing pins stabbed him in a fast wave of pain all the way up his shoulder and constricting his throat, and he gasped. His shoulders tensed up to his ears, and he felt the tendons and muscles pull taunt, pulling on his windpipe and tugging it down. He felt it in the back of his throat, and he gagged. His stomach didn’t heave, it was frozen solid like a boulder, spreading to his other organs until they were all heavy weights, ripping his stomach open, blood was covering his hands and dripping-

“Danny?” Slim hands covered his, squeezing tightly. Jazz was kneeling on the bed in front of him, watching him closely. “Are you back with me?” She asked carefully.

He nodded, trying and failing to swallow around the lump in his throat. “I need to go out tonight,” he whispered hoarsely, trying to convey his seriousness in his eyes. “ _I need to go out tonight_ ,” he repeated.

Jazz nodded slowly. “Okay,” she whispered back. “Okay. I’ll warn you if they try to come back. Stay close.”

He gave her a shaky smile, slowly unfurling to put his arms around her in a tentative hug. His abdomen still ached, and he was having trouble swallowing, but he felt better. Jazz patted his back one more time, then left.

He snagged his Fenton Radio off his desk and slipped it onto his ear, hearing a second radio buzz onto the frequency a second later. Jazz was listening. He took a deep breath and popped open the window, leaning out. No one was outside. He peeked out his door. The hallway was dark, and there was distant clatter from the lab door left open. Jazz’s door was closed. This was his chance. No one was around to see the wash of bright light of his transformation. 

Flying out the window was more of a mental escape than anything he really needed to do - he could just as well go through a wall, or the ceiling, or even the floor, but something about the window felt right. Feeling the night air hit his face was like breaking through a wall of water he hadn’t realized he was drowning in. He sucked in a gasp of air like it was the first time his lungs worked.

Power rattled through his ribs and down his spine, rippling all the way down his body and through his tail. Electricity raced down his skin, and his breath exploded in one big puff of frost. He could feel his body reconnecting with itself, like pieces of a puzzle fitting snuggly back together. He grinned. It was good to be back.


End file.
